


go ahead and play dead, i know that you can hear this

by notthebigspoon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Evil Space Husbands, Fluff, M/M, a fluffy marshmallow, because i am a marshmallow, fluff for days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:05:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7164755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a way, he wishes he had died. There would have been more honor in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	go ahead and play dead, i know that you can hear this

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darkelfgrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkelfgrl/gifts).



> Title taken from Passive by A Perfect Circle

He can’t move. He can’t move and that infuriates him. There’s no vent for his frustration. The sedatives keep him weak and he’s always sedated. He supposes he understands the reason for that. If he could, he would be up, moving, thrashing. The traitor and that foolish girl had almost killed him. In a way, he wishes he had died. There would have been more honor in it. He wouldn’t have disappointed Snoke. He wouldn’t have to endure Hux’s sneers and derision.

Not that he’s had to endure that. He hasn’t seen the man since his awakening a week ago. Kylo had always thought his derision in front of other was an artful concealment of their relationship. They’d always been somewhat unconventional together, but it had amused both of them, the snark and the insults. He finds himself wondering if Hux has always despised him and only used him for physical pleasure. If he truly meant all the things he’d said about Kylo, the way Kylo had never really meant any of the things he had said about Hux.

The thought makes bile rise in his throat. He should turn. He could move, enough, to vomit. But perhaps he could choke on it. Perhaps he should choke on it. It would be an ignominious ending to him, humiliating in comparison to going down with Starkiller Base. But it’s preferable to knowing he’s not wanted. He stays still. Closes his eyes and forces himself to remain that way.

An alarm sounds. Feet thunder. Hands roughly shift him.

His next dose of sedative is administered and his bed is elevated until he’s sitting somewhat upright. He doesn’t use the force to fight back the sedatives, lets it wash over him and drag him into unconsciousness. So much for that plan.

Time passes. He loses track, now he’s no longer fighting the effects of the medication. He drifts in and out of consciousness, catches fleeting glimpses of doctors and med droids. He thinks sometimes that maybe he sees a flash of ginger but that’s a fantasy. Weakness. Sentiment. He casts it from himself, tries to sink within the hate and the pain that’s starting to seep back into him as his sedatives and painkillers are scaled back on an incremented schedule. It doesn’t work.

In time, he’s motivated himself to sit up, to move, to stand. The scar tissues is tight and painful, he feels pain shoot through him, but he uses it. The force is still at his fingertips. He practices on things left behind in the room and, at his ordering, a droid provides steadily heavier, bulkier, more difficult things for him to maneuver. When he’s strong enough to start keeping the door shut and force choke anyone who manages to force it open, they release him.

It’s done with no small amount of agitation at his behavior and relief that they didn’t let the Supreme Leader’s prized pupil die. Snoke would likely have killed the medical team if Kylo had died. The thought is surprisingly distasteful.

His hands are slow, clumsy with his last dose of pain medication as he drags his robes and boots on. His shoulder scream as he dons his helmet. He uses the pain, the anger, straightens himself up and strides out of medical. He doesn’t thank them. In another life, he might have. That life is gone. That person is finally entirely gone. Kylo Ren does not thank people for competently completing the jobs to which they are assigned. He disposes of them when they are incompetent.

This is a state of mind that carries him to his quarters. They’re nearly empty, seldom used except as cover. It’s sterile, clinical, no personal possessions. He strips, places his helmet on his desk and hangs the robe away. Alone, he can deal with his pain and he lets the facade melt away, face twisting and shoulders slumping. He drags on loose sleep pants and a t-shirt. There’s a moment of hesitation and yearning before he places his palm flat against the hidden door that adjoins their quarters.

It’s painful, the cold, impersonal steel burning his palm. This was the door that faciliated his coming and going, since the doors to their allegedly separate quarters open on different corridors. He grits his teeth. Pain and rage and hurt surge through him. Something sizzles and the door crackles, blowing a shower of sparks before going dark and cold. Hopefully the damage is irreparable. Hux would never dare have it repaired even by a droid.

As his wont and weakness, Kylo has underestimated someone.

Again.

He really needs to start working on that.

Still, he doesn’t stir when he hears the noise on the other side of the door. Instead he turns onto his side and flips his pillow, pressing his burning cheek to the cool side of the cloth and listening to scrapings, grindings and thumps. It arouses his curiosity but mildly. He draws the blanket over his head and tries to allow his mind to drift off. It works and he’s drifting off to sleep when the door starts to slide open.

It’s Hux, of course. Kylo would know him anywhere, recognizes his breathing patterns and could feels his thoughts if he were so inclined. He smells the same, the same cologne that he’s always worn but the smell is tempered by grease and a whiff of ozone. Kylo refflects that Hux had at one point been fascinated by engineering, though he’d been too important to be wasted on that division. It was still a cherished hobby. Even yet, their quarters had always held some new project of his. The most recent had been a droid of his own design. Kylo wonders if he ever finished it.

The bed shifts. He doesn’t move, doesn’t gasp, doesn’t tip his head into the touch when Hux’s familiar hand sifts through his hair. A shock surges through his body when lips press to his temple. It’s a gentle gesture that’s generally far outside Hux’s usual actions that pass for affection. They’ve always been brusque and sarcastic with one another. Intense in bed with rare showings of physical affection. Even their kissing had a taste of violence to it.

Kylo had always thrilled to it, found it something unique, to be held close to his heart. The thought that it all could have been a lie breaks him. He shudders. Hux’s hand doesn’t draw away.

“I thought you were awake. Hoped. How in the stars did you manage to do that to the door?”

Kylo keeps his face in the pillow, stares at the wall. “Why are you here?”

“I could ask you the same question.” Hux counters. “What are you doing in this empty hole? Why didn’t you come back to our quarters?”

“You’re really asking me that?” Kylo asks. Short. Bitter. “It’s been six weeks that I’ve been in the infirmary. And never were you there. Not even when-”

“When you nearly choked on your own vomit? Yes, I was quite aware of that. The doctor in your case was sent to be reprogrammed.”

“You weren’t there.”

His voice is broken. He hates that. He hates even more that he allows Hux to grip his chin and force Kylo to look at him.

“I was there. Every chance that I could be. Unfortunately it was at night, as these have been busy times for us.” Hux says, sharply, but with a softening of tone and expression. His voice is fond when he speaks again. “You’ve always been regular about sleep. The medication made you worse. I couldn’t come when there were eyes watching, beyond when Snoke sent me to make a personal evaluation.”

Kylo knows that. They’ve always concealed themselves so carefully. Only snoke knows the full extent of them, that Kylo knows, and he’s never said anything of it. Biding his time, Kylo supposes. He watches Hux’s icy blue eyes, knowing that concern would be displayed for no one but himself. No one gets to see Hux likes this. It’s why he allows himself to be drawn up off the bed, guided through the newly repaired door into the adjoining quarters that are his true home. He trips over the toolboox on the floor, but Hux easily catches him around the waist. Kylo frowns.

He’s lost weight. Gotten clumsy.

He’s eased onto the bed, the blankets drawn up around him. Hux steps around, puts the toolbox away in its usual place and showers before changing and slipping under the covers. The lights are set to their dimmest, barely enough to outline the two of them. Kylo looks at the shadowy face, doesn’t draw away when Hux shifts him and wrap an arm around his waist. His chest is warm against Kylo’s back. He doesn’t fight the kiss that’s pressed to his hair. Nor the one to his ear. Nor the one to his neck.

“Try not to be such a fucking idiot next time.”

It’s with Hux’s usual level of acidity and exasperation but Kylo knows what it really means.


End file.
